Like the Asthmatic Struggling for Breath
by goddessofpainandagony
Summary: No one knew Chase had asthma until he passed out on the gym floor during laps. Chase doesn't even know how to start dealing with his emotions after that, but it sure would be a lot easier if everyone would stop breathing down his neck. And, you know, if he didn't have to be worried about Mr. Davenport deciding to pull him off a mission when he's fine. Because he's fine. He's fine.
1. Conscious Breathing is My Anchor

His chest was tight and heavy.

Chase could only describe it that way, after. And he was asked a lot, by doctors and nurses and Mr. Davenport and Tasha and pretty much everyone else who knew Chase and was low enough on the social chain to be willing to ask him. He had to explain it to people doing tests, to people who were worried, to people who gossiped, to people who laughed at him, to people who mocked him. After, Chase couldn't really think of any one way to describe it. Nothing really hit the mark. The best he could come up with was _'tight and heavy'_ , but that didn't really cover it. Of course, all that came after.

At the time, it was indescribable because he couldn't think through the panic. His chest was weighing him down, pinning him to the floor, his lungs tight and closed. He was wheezing for breath, but the air never reached his lungs. Chase thought for a second that he had been submerged underwater, that some idiot had tried drowning him, but that didn't make any sense because he was in P.E. and when he opened his eyes he was on dry ground. The coach was crouched over him, pushing him onto his back and feeling along his ribs and just about then the wheezing stopped.

Chase probably wouldn't have noticed, except when it was gone he realized it was the only sound in the room. Either that or, much like his vision, his hearing had tunneled down to the basics. Chase's senses were falling him and that couldn't actually happen because they were _bionically enhanced_ and the only way this was possible was if his bionic infrastructure was compromised. That knowledge was the one clear thought in his mind as panic took over, as his throat closed and Chase couldn't even tell if he was trying to bring air in but it didn't matter because he was _dying_ and _oh God if this is happening to me, if I'm being attacked, what's happening to Adam and Bree?_

And, possibly gasping for life and wondering if this was Douglas except _how did he get out of the secure facility,_ Chase passed out on the gym floor.

* * *

The white envelope hit Chase's lap with a smack, sliding across the tablet resting there before it was stopped by his stomach. Chase looked up at Mr. Davenport's expectant face, wearing his _'I'm superior and I'm going to tell you why'_ expression. Already annoyed and definitely not in the mood for Mr. Davenport's hysterics, Chase resignedly turned the envelope over. It was from the school, addressed to 'the Parents/Guardians of Chase Davenport'.

"Care to explain this to me, Chase?" Mr. Davenport asked smugly, with no shortage of attitude.

"What?" Chase asked, pulling a sheet of paper from the envelope. It had the school crest in one corner. He unfolded it and saw his report card staring up at him.

"A D, Chase? Really?"

"Ooh, Chase got a D," Adam mocked from the kitchen. He was currently eating a bowl of cereal and orange juice with his hands, and Chase had to fight the urge to point that out, to scream at him. "Who's the smartest person in the world now, genius?"

"How is that even possible? Don't you know, like, everything?" Leo added as he and Bree walked into the conversation. They took one look at Adam and sat down at the kitchen island without comment.

"It's just P.E." Chase dropped the letter on the living room table. "And the class is a joke. The coach isn't even teaching us. Bree and Adam have Mrs. Stewart, and they're getting muscle quizzes and learning sports. Coach Tillery just makes us run, and sometimes we get to throw a ball to each other-or _at_ each other. It's not exactly intellectually stimulating."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Bree pouted, dropping her phone to the counter. "Running is what P.E.'s supposed to be about. I would kill for that class. Mrs. Stewart makes exercise so _boring._ I don't need to know what my quads are to know how to work them."

"Yeah, I want to throw balls at people," Adam interjected.

"That is not the point guys. This is a high school P.E. class, Chase, you should be more than well equipped to handle it with your bionics." Mr. Davenport took the report card from the table and shook his head. "I'm really disappointed in you. Coach Tillery said if you fail another mile, you won't pass the class."

"That's ridiculous!" Chase stood up, arguing with full teenage righteousness. "The semester isn't even close to over. He can't say that!"

"Well, he did, and I'm telling you this needs to stop now. How am I supposed to trust you on missions if you can't pass P.E.?"

"That's not fair!"

"No, what's not fair is you treating your schoolwork and training as anything less than serious," Mr. Davenport argued. The more he talked, the more angry he became. "Either this is you not caring about school or you goofing off with training, and I don't really care which. It stops now. If you don't pass this class, you're off the team."

"Big D, isn't that a bit far?" Leo asked. Mr. Davenport turned to him quickly, and Leo jumped back.

"No, it's not. You three were the ones who wanted school and work, so you have to commit to both. I can't put someone on a top secret, life or death mission who can't run a mile." Mr. Davenport turned back to Chase, and the usual amusement in his eyes was gone. This was one of his rare, completely serious moments. "You need to pass your miles if you want to go on missions. And maybe we can start a personalized training program for just you. I don't know what you need to turn this around, but you better figure it out. It isn't fair to Adam and Bree, who are pulling their weight in training."

When Mr. Davenport made his dramatic exit, no one was laughing. For once.

* * *

Coach Tillery had the class running laps around the gym as a warm up. The main event for this particular Monday: dodgeball. As if Chase didn't dislike the gladiator act of attacking each other with rubber balls enough, this was his first day of school after the discussion with Mr. Davenport about his report card, and now Chase needed to buckle down and put _effort_ into something he hated. He was running at top speed, on his third lap around the gym and ahead of the rest of the class, when the shortness of breath hit. Then he started coughing.

Chase assumed he had inhaled some dust and kept running. He started coughing more on his fourth lap. His lungs seized suddenly, gave a final heave, and then may as well have left his chest for all the good they did him. Chase slowed to a walk and rubbed his chest. He felt the air scrape through his throat, but it seemed to vanish by the time it reached his lungs. He choked, and stopped walking. Kids laughed at him as they passed, pointing and running by the dumb kid standing in the middle of the gym, choking on air. Coach Tillery jogged over.

"Chase, I know I talked to your father about this. You were doing really well today, do you think you can keep up with the others now?" Tillery stopped by Chase's side just as Chase collapsed. He hadn't meant to, but the choking had turned to wheezing and he wasn't even breathing, but God was he trying. His legs gave out and by the time he hit the floor enough of his body was numb that he didn't feel the pain as the impact jarred deep into his bones. Or maybe he didn't feel it because he was too busy feeling the shocking pain in his chest, like someone had wrapped so many rubber bands around his ribs that he would explode like a watermelon in a Youtube video. Tillery dropped to his knees beside Chase and then his hands were on him, slipping under his shirt and Chase could see his teacher's lips moving but no sound reached him.

No sound except his own gasping wheezes and, later, maybe sirens before he passed out.

* * *

When Chase walked through his front door he was immediately swept into a ferocious, painful hug by Bree. He put his hands up intending to shove her away, but froze when he realized she was shaking against him. As he felt a growing wetness on his neck, he understood she was crying and hugged her back gently.

"Hey Bree," he whispered into her ear and she let out a quiet sob in response.

"Bree, let go of Chase," Mr. Davenport ordered as he walked through the door behind them. "He's still weak, and his chest is sore."

"Sorry," Bree whispered as she pulled away. Leo was sitting on the couch, twisted around to stare at them, and Adam stood behind Bree with a thunderous expression on his face. "We were just so worried. We heard about you collapsing at lunch, and when we got home Tasha told us you were in the hospital. What happened?"

"Chase had an asthma attack." Mr. Davenport grabbed Chase's arm and directed him to the couch.

"Asthma?" Adam asked slowly, looking like he was seriously considering finding out who was named 'Asthma' so he could beat them up for attacking Chase.

"It's a medical condition. Chase is at risk because it can be genetic, and my mother has it, but also because he has allergies." Mr. Davenport sat down next to Chase, staring down at the inhaler in his hand. "An attack means he can't breathe properly. If it's a severe attack like this one, he could die."

"Is this why you haven't been trying in P.E.?" Leo asked.

"I guess. It was never this bad before, I just thought I inhaled some dust or something," Chase admitted. He coughed once, and his lungs screamed in protest. He had never been this sore in his life. After the attack and Coach Tillery giving him CPR, Chase was sure he was all bruises underneath his shirt. "I didn't really care enough to keep running until today. I didn't want to be kicked off the team. I'm not, am I?"

The thought of being expelled from the team because of his asthma was actually painful, and everyone turned to Mr. Davenport in fear.

"No, of course not," Mr. Davenport assured. "This is just something we'll have to work around. But as long as you're honest with me about this, it'll be fine."

Chase sighed in relief and collapsed back against the coach. "Great."

"I mean it, Chase." Mr. Davenport leaned in close to his son's face. "You feel an attack coming on, you have a cough, hell, you feel a tickle in your throat, you will tell me. Nonnegotiable."

"I promise," Chase responded gratefully. He never liked giving his family another reason to see him as weak, but this was so much better than being kicked off the team. Chase would do anything if Mr. Davenport let him stay as Mission Leader. "I promise."

* * *

His chest was tight and heavy.

That's what he said, after. Tight and heavy. That was the closest he was willing to get in describing the sensation of his asthma attack. He talked about the rubber bands around his ribs and the weight pinning him to the floor. He talked about the air scraping down his throat but never reaching lungs that may or may not have stopped existing in those nine minutes he lay on the gym floor. He even talked about the loss of sensation that tricked him into believing he and his siblings were under attack, that he would later come to realize was a symptom of dissociation. He didn't talk about the _rest._

He didn't talk about the shame he felt as people laughed at him for choking on air. He didn't talk about the fear that paralyzed his limbs and clouded his mind. He didn't talk about tears that spilled out of his eyes and ran down into his hair. He didn't talk about his absurd worry for his brother and sister when they were in fact fine, one failing a muscle quiz and the other sleeping through a math test. And he certainly didn't talk about what it felt like at the time, before he thought of the words _tight and heavy._

Chase never told anyone that it felt like Death himself had wrapped a hand around his chest, had pushed a hand _through_ his chest to drag him by the diaphragm down to Hell.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Hey there! Been a while, hasn't it? I actually started this right after posting my last story, but things kept coming up that stopped me from finishing. Now it is finished. Here is part one, and part two will be coming to you this time next week.**

 **Thank you for reading, and please return for the conclusion to Chase's experience with asthma.**

 **P.S.-Why do I like hurting my little Chase so much? Oh well, it's still fun!**


	2. Reasons for Forgetting to Breathe

Everyone treated Chase differently after _that._

They tried to pretend they didn't, but Chase was far from stupid. And Adam was far from subtle. And Bree was far from conniving.

It was tolerable at school only because Chase didn't really mind his regular bullies ignoring him-beats a shoulder check into the bay of lockers and a bruise across his scapula. It seemed news of Chase's collapse in gym class was the most exciting gossip Mission Creek High had to speculate over at the moment, and soon everyone knew that Chase couldn't breathe like a freaking _person._ And asthma apparently put Chase on the same level as the junior in a wheelchair and the freshman with scoliosis: unpopular enough to be friendless, but fragile enough to be spared of bullying. People talked about him, sure, but they didn't talk _to_ him. Chase considered that an upgrade from the constant torment he had been suffering before.

The teachers were a little weirder.

Chase didn't notice it until the first time he was late to Calculus. He had gotten hung up at his locker, fighting the combination lock for a solid minute before dropping all his books in his rush. He had gathered them off the floor quickly, still mildly surprised when no one kicked them out from beneath his fingertips, and jogged to his class across the building. He had arrived, winded, seconds after the tardy bell rang. And Mrs. Phillips had looked at him with a strange expression of half-pity, half-concern. She'd called him over to her desk and ducked her head closer to his height, spoke in hushed tones.

"Mr. Davenport, perhaps you should go to the nurse?"

"What?" Chase breathed out, lungs still catching up to his body. His mind had already been racing ahead, however, and he was already scanning the board for notes and calculating his odds of making training this afternoon if his teacher gave him detention. He hadn't factored the nurse into any of his considerations and for a moment he couldn't comprehend what was happening. "Why?"

"I'm sure she could administer emergency medication if you need it." Chase's confusion must have been showing on his face, because after a pause where he was probably supposed to say something like _'oh, yeah, you're right, I should be going to receive this mystery medication right now',_ Mrs. Phillips continued. Slowly, as if doubting his intelligence. Which made Chase pay close attention, because he never doubted his intelligence. "I am aware you are just learning about your asthma, but one of the most important things is to recognize your limits. Ask for help when you need it."

And _of course_ she was talking about his asthma. That's all anyone seemed to see anymore. And Chase was about to tell her she was being presumptuous and couldn't be more wrong, before he realized he was still breathing pretty hard. And he'd never really had to think about things like his breathing before. So, Chase took stock of his current condition. His lungs were still a little behind the rest of him, but they weren't tight or painful. He didn't feel that grittiness in his throat. He didn't feel like air got trapped somewhere between his mouth and his lungs. He didn't even feel a cough building.

He was just catching his breath.

"I'm fine," Chase said slowly. He _was_ fine. "I promise, I don't need to see the nurse. I just want to sit down." The other students were staring at him, he could feel their eyes. They were wondering why the newly-lame kid was taking so long. He was wondering how long it would take before this story was spread around the halls.

"Very well, Mr. Davenport, you may take your seat." Mrs. Phillips had pulled back with a strange look in her eye, but Chase didn't stop long enough to decipher it. He felt a blush crawl up his neck as shame set in. He couldn't even be late to class without being some kind of spectacle. People all around him had to watch him in case he had an episode and ended up too crippled to help himself. _This isn't what a hero looks like,_ he thought. _This isn't what a Mission Leader looks like._

It wasn't until he was walking out to Adam's car that afternoon that he realized Mrs. Phillips hadn't punished him for being tardy. He couldn't find it in himself to feel any relief at making it to training on time. He felt pathetic, like a special case. _We can't give_ that _kid detention. He has asthma. He needs it easy. Can't keep up with everyone else._

He felt even more pitiful when Mr. Davenport stretched his warm-up out obnoxiously long and then benched him after ten minutes of training.

"Don't want to overexert yourself," he had explained dismissively before turning to watch Adam and Bree do actually _useful_ things. "Take a break, catch your breath. Come back in a few minutes."

So Chase was relegated to observer as his siblings practiced a complex series of kicks and blocks. Mr. Davenport let him join in when he brought out the simulator, but kept reminding Chase not to push his limits and eventually telling him to just hang back and strategize. Adam avoided touching Chase at all and Bree was gentler than she'd ever been with him, as though when she was touching him she was holding some priceless yet delicate artifact. Or maybe a baby bird. Chase started to feel like a big lump following Adam and Bree around, useless and in their way. Humiliation held him back when everyone else returned upstairs to watch TV and ignore homework. He sat up at the desk and pretended to do homework as an excuse to avoid his family.

He was already exhausted by them and it hadn't even been a week.

He was sick of being treated as fragile. He hated feeling weak. And worse, he hated that it was warranted. Mr. Davenport was a bit overbearing during training, but Chase couldn't deny that he had coughed more than once and by the time training was over he had felt a scratchiness in his throat that shouldn't have been there. They were treating him like he was fragile because he _was_ fragile. He _was_ weak. He did need a break during training.

The sudden appearance of these severe symptoms was difficult to adjust to. Chase had researched it, and discovered that asthma could develop at any point in life. Perhaps the sickness he'd suffered during his first flu season had weakened him. Perhaps Chase was just unlucky. Perhaps he was always weak and no one had ever known until he pushed himself into a full-blown asthma attack.

* * *

The first mission was a fire-because of course it was.

The call came while they were at school. Chase was in AP History and for a second he considered telling the teacher he felt short of breath, asking to go to the nurse. A flash of shame spread through his veins and he just said he was going to the bathroom. He met Bree and Adam outside the school, guilty and quiet. After a few weeks of bristling at any hint of special treatment, here he was thinking of buying a way out of class with his asthma.

If they noticed anything, neither mentioned it. Neither of his siblings were very perceptive, though. Bree grabbed Chase's arm, and in the time it took to blink and with a strong rush of air he was standing in the lab. Chase stumbled a step before regaining his balance. Alarms were blaring, and Davenport was examining video footage projected above the desk. A large building was engulfed in flames, nearly consumed by the raging fire. Black smoke billowed into the sky above, and Chase could make out the profiles of several people through the windows of the highest stories of the building, trying to flee the rapidly rising inferno. Davenport started bringing up information around the video, including air quality, emergency response time, and building plans.

"This is one of my coastal facilities. It's not very close to, well, anything, for obvious reasons," Davenport started the mission briefing as the three teenagers started gathering their gear. "Emergency response time isn't great, and by the time they get there the building will be entirely overwhelmed. And even when the emergency personnel arrive it's not likely they'll be able to put out the flames. There were some highly experimental substances that seem to also be highly flammable."

"What's the objective?" Bree questioned, dressed in her mission suit and waiting for Adam and Chase to finish packing the supplies.

"You're going to get inside, find anyone trapped, and rescue as many people as you can. I've adapted the normal retardant to something that'll likely stop the fire. Deliver that to the firemen, they'll know what to do with it. And, guys," Davenport said slowly, halting their exit. All three stood together, ready to leave the lab, suited up with bags strapped to their backs. "It's going to be dangerous. Don't do anything stupid."

And maybe it was Chase's imagination, but he felt Davenport's eyes rest on him and the meaning of his warning changed. _Don't go run into a fire with your defective lungs. You should know better than to try and do_ anything _because we all know you can't. Not now that you're all feeble and weak and...you. Got that, Chase? Don't do anything stupid, just let your brother and sister save the day while you sit back and watch._

"C'mon, Mr. Davenport," Adam said breezily, smiling wide. "When have we ever done anything stupid?"

* * *

There was a lot of rooms in the Davenport Mansion. It was a mansion, after all. The ground floor had that spacious front room connected to a dining room and kitchen. Further on there was the conspicuously empty room that held the secret entrance to the lab. There was also a guest room and a few large bathrooms. And up the stairs there were game rooms, offices, bedrooms, and mini-labs for Davenport's research and less volatile experiments. The man couldn't spend all his time underground, that lifestyle was for his children.

Chase hadn't really been upstairs that much _before._ Before Leo, he hadn't ever been outside of his lab. That small space full of electronics and entertainment and family made up his entire world. He hadn't even been sure the rest of the world was really there. Objectively, he'd _known._ He had data about great oceans and large deserts and 7.5 billion other people. But all he'd ever experienced was this small, cluttered lab. It was impossible to comprehend the size of what was out there, and there just didn't seem to be enough room for it all. He knew it was there, but he never truly believed it until Leo took them to school and he saw large halls, open spaces, and the _sky._

And before the incident, he'd gone upstairs only a few times. He hadn't been afraid of it. He just...wasn't interested. Because Bree was always walking around the ground floor, or slumping over the holodesk in the lab to glare at her phone and text furiously. And Adam and Leo were always spread out on the couch watching TV and playing games, or in the kitchen pilfering snacks from the fridge and cupboards. So he was always somewhere in between, ghosting between the three of them and entertaining himself with their lives. He didn't have much going on in his own, so he'd take what he could get. The only people that went upstairs were Mr. Davenport and Tasha, and Chase wasn't interested in whatever they were doing up there.

 _After,_ though.

After, Chase relocated to the vast space beyond the stairs. He was just desperate for a place to hide, to avoid his family. He was sick of Bree caressing his skin like it was the thinnest of paper, prepared to tear at the barest pressure. He was sick of Adam dropping whatever was in his hands in some weird dance to avoid touching Chase at all, like he could catch asthma and become as weak as his pathetic little brother. He was sick of Leo watching him, assessing, and then doing things for him-like grabbing a bowl off a high shelf, like Chase can't move too much or he'll die. He was sick of Davenport taking projects out of his hands, _'to help',_ sick of his constant reminders to _'just take it easy, don't push yourself, learn your limits'._

And, God help him, he was sick of Tasha checking his school bag for his inhaler and putting extra dessert in his lunch box (because what if he develops an allergy to some weird school food along with his asthma?) and stroking his hair as she passed like he was a spooked dog.

He was so sick of all his overbearing, overprotective family. He'd rather cram himself into a tight corner between a bed and dresser in an unused guest room for hours at a time then spend even five minutes with them anymore. He'd rather not see them at all, in fact.

So that's what he did. He'd get up late in the morning, late enough to only have time to get dressed and grab his things before running out the door. Usually, Tasha would be done checking his backpack by then and he could duck her protective mothering. Then, he'd throw out his lunch when he'd get to school and buy one with his own money because he was not allergic to any food, he didn't need a mom packing his lunch like a child. He was _fine._ He didn't even have to try to avoid his siblings at school. He was in all advanced classes, and they were at the normal level (except for Adam, who was in remedial courses). When he got home he'd beeline for the stairs, find his favorite guest room next to one of the less used offices at the southern end of the house, and settle in his too-tight corner for the day. Sometimes, Tasha would put in the effort for a family dinner and he'd be called down to eat. On those days he couldn't control the simpering, condescending attitude his family would treat him with. Most nights everyone would be too tired to cook, and no one would notice if he didn't eat. On those days he could hide in his room until well after dark and sneak his way down to his capsule after everyone else had retreated to their respective sleeping areas.

It wasn't perfect, but hey, it worked.

Chase was pretty sure it was an overreaction, not to mention uncomfortable and unhealthy. And he missed his siblings. He even sorta missed the teasing, the pushing, the mocking. It was just so common, his day felt empty without it. No bruises from lockers, but also no bruises from Adam, no bruises from Leo's half baked schemes, no stinging feelings from Bree's well-timed quips. Also, no hugs. No sibling rivalry or bonding. No team. Just Chase, sitting in that tiny corner, and everyone else downstairs forgetting he ever existed.

No. It wasn't perfect.

But neither was the way they treated him when they remembered he existed.

Chase had always longed for some unnameable thing in his family. Part recognition, part pride, part unconditional love. And all attention. Chase wanted attention more than he'd ever wanted anything. But not like this. He wanted to be known as the Mission Leader, the core of their team. He wanted people to respect his intelligence. He wanted everyone to say _'wow, Chase is so strong and a great leader. We can all learn something from Chase.'_

He'd never wanted to be known as the fragile one. The weak one. The breakable chink in the armor of the team. Adam and Bree had always been good at making him feel inferior, but they'd never done so- _and with so little effort-_ as they did now. The part of Chase that strived for greatness felt shriveled and unfulfilled. He'd much rather be miserable in his corner, licking wounds, than down there being emasculated by the ones he loved.

* * *

Bree didn't bring them too close to the burning building, and Chase had a suspicious feeling she was hanging back for him. "You can scan from here, right?" she'd said, like it was no big deal. Like she was being all subtle, pulling the wool over Chase's eyes and getting away with it. Chase felt an urge to march himself closer, close enough to feel the heat and choke on the smoke.

Except he'd never been an idiot, and there were lives on the line with this one. Chase scanned the compound, receiving data Davenport hadn't had access to after the security systems burned out. Structural integrity was forty-three percent and dropping fast-whatever this flammable substance was, it ignited into an unnatural blaze. In seconds the integrity dropped another five percent, and there were already floors on the bottom that were starting to collapse.

"We can't wait for emergency responders," Chase decided, calculating the odds of a successful mission. Reviewing their options. "The building will collapse before they get here, and those people will die."

"So I'll just put the fire out. It needs oxygen to burn," Bree answered easily. She got into a runner's pose, showing off, while Adam pulled the special fire retardant out of his bag.

"Yeah, and the people need oxygen to breathe," Chase snapped. Bree's face darkened in annoyance, but smoothed out without a word. Probably because Chase was too fragile to even argue with anymore. "Besides, the building's structure is compromised. You could knock the whole thing over."

"So we're going in," Bree decided. She was impatient, like she'd been the day she was texting Owen and completely jeopardized the mission. Her mind wasn't in it, she was already thinking somewhere else. Or maybe she was sick of answering to Chase, who she'd always known couldn't measure up and now could prove it.

"I guess we are."

"That's funny." Bree turned incredulous eyes on Chase, like she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "You're not going anywhere. Adam and I are going in, and you're going to wait for the first responders and give them this," and Bree tugged the large canister out of Adam's hand and deposited it into Chase's arms. "Mr. Davenport would have a stroke if you went it there."

"Besides, what are you gonna do? It's not like you could carry anyone out," Adam added. Maybe he thought he was being helpful. Maybe he thought he was being funny. All Chase thought was how much he'd like to throw the canister right at Adam's head and see what damage it could do. _Probably not a lot,_ Chase guessed. The canister was large and metal, but the retardant inside was light-weight. They'd each brought one in case they separated or more was needed, and if it was light enough to strap to Chase's back it was too light to hurt someone with as hard a head as Adam's.

"You want me to just stand here?" Chase asked disbelievingly, still weighing the canister in his hands. The impulse was fading slow.

"You could go stand somewhere else," Adam offered while Bree positioned herself next to him. She got a solid grip on his bicep and hip, and then they were gone, leaving nothing but a strong breeze behind.

Nothing but a strong breeze and Chase, that is.

* * *

Chase overreacted to things.

That was a part of Chase. That was a part of Spike. And Spike was a part of Chase too. He had an app that turned him into Mr. Hyde, only more vain and with an even shorter temper, and that seemed appropriate because even without Spike there was that hunger. That hunger for more, a desire for something he didn't have. Chase desired class president, Mission Leader, increased bionic ability. Chase wanted things so powerfully he felt like they were already his. His right to have them if he wanted it this much, if he tried so hard. And when something came along to interrupt that, Chase would overreact.

That's how he hurt people's feelings, like the way he had hurt Adam during the race for class president. Chase wasn't thinking about the other people, or their feelings, or the possibility that he wouldn't achieve his goal. All Chase was thinking about was how good it would feel after he won.

And the biggest problem with that was how long it would take for Chase to overreact. He'd find something he didn't like and take it as part of his fuel, usually driving him through some impulsive and self-destructive idea. He would go to space without full control of his bionics, or to the most remote part of Antarctica with the threat of a dangerous storm drawing near. He would hold it all in until it exploded out of him. Until he walked himself into a mistake and, angry and uncomfortable, he'd just snap. He'd let the emotions out in the worst way and everyone else would have to figure out how to fix it.

Chase was a genius, but that never helped him with emotions.

The others started noticing his adjusted behavior after two weeks and five days. To be fair, he was pretty good at being invisible. His siblings never interacted with him at school because Chase was...well, Chase. He didn't fit in with their friends, and no one was that concerned with making room. Which was fine, Chase had better things to do than hang around his older brother and sister like a child. And he was often alone at home. Down in the lab, working on a new project. At the kitchen island, working on homework. His family was used to him getting lost in his own mind for hours and drifting aimlessly, out of sight and out of mind. They wouldn't have noticed it right away.

The thing that made Chase angry, though, is the response once they figured it out. He was angry at Tasha, all affection and sweetness and extra portions at dinner, like Chase was trying to starve himself or something. And _'you can't leave until you clear your plate, sweetie'._ Tasha didn't use words like _sweetie_. She was only saying it because she was worried, but didn't want to say what she was worried about because then she would have to deal with it.

But mostly, Chase was angry at Davenport for threatening to remove him from the team _again._ Davenport's response was to blame Chase for _slacking_ of all things. Talking about missing training, unreliable, selfish. And as Davenport went on and on about how _'being on the team is a privilege'_ , Chase felt that pressure building up higher and higher. When Davenport said, "I don't know why you're acting like this," Chase felt that _snap._

"What about the way you've been acting?" Davenport blinked for a moment, mouthing gaping like a fish. Maybe that tone wasn't the best one to lead with. Maybe yelling wasn't the brightest idea Chase had ever had. Maybe he'd given Davenport a stroke and should call for help now. But, no, he was recovering.

"What did you just say to me?"

"You heard me!" Chase shouted, because there was no sense in dialing it back now. "I'm not an invalid, you know!"

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"I-I'm talking about," Chase stuttered, working himself up to a real blow-out, "about lunch in a brown paper bag. I'm talking about ten minutes of training before you bench me. I'm talking about, about hanging back to _strategize!"_

"I'm trying to take care of you!" Mr. Davenport yelled back, and when everyone is yelling no one is being heard. It's very hard to stop once you start, though, so Chase opened his mouth to yell right back. But Mr. Davenport wasn't done. "I won't apologize for that. You're unhappy because you're unwilling to accept your limits, and if this is how you want to act than maybe I _should_ bench you. For real."

"I'm a part of this team," Chase argued.

"Then start acting like it! If one part of the team fails, it all falls apart. If you push yourself further than you can go, you'll put your siblings in danger." Mr. Davenport gestured to the couch, where Adam, Bree, and Leo were studiously ignoring the argument. Usually his siblings wouldn't hesitate to jump in, taunting and pushing and enraging Chase. Either this was a bigger fight than they were comfortable with, like when Bree broke her chip, or they were still treating Chase like broken glass. _Or both._

"What do you want me to do?"

"Follow directions! Do your part!" Mr. Davenport sighed, shoulders slumping. He spread his hands on the kitchen island, posing dramatically-as he was wont to do in these situations. Davenport always had a flare for the dramatic, even when a serious demeanor would serve better. "I don't know, Chase. I just...I don't want to send you on a mission if I don't know you can handle it."

"But I can," Chase said, and there was a noticeable whine in his voice. Davenport looked at him, disbelieving, and his heart sunk. Chase was starting to comprehend the harsh reality that he may not be allowed to go on another mission. Worse, he may not be _able_ to. "I can."

"We'll see," Davenport answered, and left it at that.

This was the kind of corner Chase hated to be in-one with no way out, except the exit blocked by his family.

* * *

Chase was getting sick of waiting.

He could see Bree dropping people off outside of the building. Rather, he could see people appearing far enough away from the blaze to be safe, stumbling around in confusion. He hadn't seen Adam since he'd vanished to the smoky establishment with Bree. The comm units were working, but between Bree's running and the crackling of the flames, Chase couldn't make out much. Except Davenport, requesting updates every other minute and giving the exact same ETA for the emergency responders along with it.

Chase was getting nervous about smoke inhalation, structural integrity (down to twenty-nine), and the fact that Adam still hadn't shown up outside the burning building when Bree stopped next to him. She was winded, soot-streaked, and alone.

"Where's Adam?"

"He's not back yet?" Bree wheezed out, looking around. "Weird. We split up floors so we could get through it faster. You said no one was on the lower levels, so I took the top three and he took the four below that."

"So where is he?" Chase demanded, turning away before she could answer. Clearly, she didn't have the information he needed. He started scanning for signs of life, and quickly pinpointed a large group five floors from the top. There were no other living organisms in the building. "I've got him. I'm going in."

"Are you crazy?" Bree demanded. "Adam can handle himself. Don't be stupid-"

"I'm not stupid!" Chase spun on her and watched her jaw snap shut. "He might need help, and it could be more help than you can give if he's trapped. Besides, I have a force field. I can handle this."

"I don't know, Chase." Bree glanced around uncertainly, and Chase was sick of asking permission to do his job. He dropped the canister of retardant into her chest, and her arms came up instinctively to catch it. "Chase, I-"

"Just watch for the firemen," Chase ordered, starting to walk backwards-away from her. "You'll be able to get there faster."

Then he was running, stumbling into the building. He pulled up his shield before the smoke could hit him, hit his lungs, and when he stepped into the fire his vision was immediately obscured. The smoke billowed out in swirls around the shield, black and grey mixing outside the transparent blue of his bionics. Struggling to see through the haze, Chase walked slowly and cautiously. He found a wall four steps to his left, and followed it some twenty-odd paces to a crumbling stairwell. There was a sizable hole in a couple of the steps, and through it Chase could see the bright orange of the fire. It was electric, almost, and Chase realized he was probably right above an underground containment unit.

This could be the room the fire started in, and the chemicals were burning an unusual shade. Chase felt the urge to stop and record what he was seeing, maybe scan for elements in the orange light below, but the urge to help his brother and the people he had gathered was stronger. He lunged over the gap, felt the ground creak beneath his feet, and carefully made his way up. He counted floors in his head, measuring the space between landings to compare to the blueprints and building plans he had downloaded. Beyond the first few floors, there wasn't much danger in the concrete stairwell. The fire was strongest at the base of the building, and was engulfing the open spaces in other floors. The stairwell was mostly intact, and the air was much clearer than it had been out in the ground floor.

Chase found the group of people a few floors earlier than he'd expected. Either he had miscounted, or Adam was moving down instead of up and out. The people were holding the hems of their shirts over the bottom half of their faces, crowding behind Adam who appeared to be trying to force in the wall.

"Adam?" Chase called, trying to make his way through the group. People were pushing apart in terror, parting like the Red Sea before his force field. Adam whipped around, took in a huge breath, and immediately started coughing. He had nothing covering his face, but he didn't seem to be choking on smoke too badly. _He doesn't have to breathe,_ Chase remembered, but there were more pressing matters. Such as why Adam was trying to force his way through the side of the building instead of out the top and down the side.

"Chase? What are you doing in here? Can you breathe?" Adam demanded when he finished coughing, after one of the older men behind him gave him a few sharp slaps on the back.

"I'm fine. Force field," Chase answered. He was fine. No tickle in his throat, shortness of breath, tight or painful chest. Chase was fine-just as he knew he would be. "What the hell are you doing? The plan was-"

"I know what the plan was! We couldn't get out," Adam explained. He was easier appeased than Bree. "The stairs don't lead to the roof and the top floor is completely blocked off. I tried to get through, but..." Adam held out his gloved hands. The fabric was burned away on his palms and Chase could see bleeding, burned skin under the soot. He winced in sympathy, reaching out to examine it closer. Scanning it revealed what Chase expected-second degree burns across his hands. At least he gave up before he did permanent damage to himself. "I thought I could break the wall in, but it's too strong. I don't know what Mr. Davenport was preparing for..."

"Anything," Chase guessed. Davenport had a way of going above and beyond what anyone would consider appropriate when it came to preparing for events yet to come...in some ways. Others, like a certain train that almost blew a town off the map, were much less thought out. Places like Facility X, and here, were decked out for the apocalypse. Chase would rather the man find a suitable middle between the two so situations where teenagers had to stop a runaway train from mass murder, or teenagers were trapped in a burning, unstable building, would be less likely. "Come on, I've got an idea."

Chase started heading up the stairs again, and Adam cursed behind him before calling the rest of the people into order. There were thirteen, seven men and six women. Adam jogged up to Chase and bounced off his shield.

"I forgot!" Adam yelled over the roar of the fire right outside the stairwell. Every door they passed was smoldering away, revealing rooms crawling with flames. The fire was starting to lick out into the enclosed space, heating it up unbearably. People were coughing behind him, and Chase realized there wasn't much time to finish this one. Chase might have a shield to protect his breathable air, and Adam might not need to breathe at all, but these people could die if they inhaled too much smoke. They could burn to death.

"Here!" Adam called as Chase approached the last doorway. The door had fallen apart into smoking pieces on the floor, and inside the smoke was too thick to see through. Chase knew there was an open space between him and the far wall. He knew the far wall was set with five symmetrical windows, which would be easy to break or open. He knew they would be able to get the civilians out through those windows. Chase knew this, but he couldn't see any of it. That made it seem an insurmountable task.

"Stay close!" Chase called back, and dropped his shield.

Because insurmountable as it may be, he couldn't give up now when the lives of thirteen people depended on him overcoming this trial. Once his shield dropped, Chase held his breath and activated his molecularkinesis. He felt the objects in the room-chunks of molding and wood, rebar and sheetrock. The walls and ceiling and floor were falling apart, creating piles of burning debris that couldn't be passed and couldn't be moved.

Or, at least, they couldn't be moved by anyone without an ability similar to that of telekinesis.

Manipulating the molecules around the rubble to lift or shift objects where he wanted, Chase cleared a straight path to the windows on the other side of the room. As his lungs started to burn, he lead the way through the room. His bionic scanning cut through the black air trapped in the room, making him the only person not completely blind as they crossed to the windows. He sent a message to Bree's chip, with the coordinates of their point of landing. He could safely transport the people to the ground, but he'd need her to get them away from the inferno.

As Chase reached the windows, and created his laser bo-staff to knock one out, he took his first breath. The smoke was sharp on his weak lungs, and he immediately felt a burning sensation down his throat. He coughed, trying to expel the dirty air, and turned to the people behind him. One by one, he lifted them out to the ground below. He focused on his molecularkinesis, on safely depositing the people out of the building for Bree to retrieve, rather than his burning lungs or aching throat or that awful wheezing noise that was coming back. Last to go was Adam, and then himself. And touching down on the ground, he was immediately whisked away by a force he couldn't see.

He landed on his knees, back at the meeting site when this mission began and Bree tried to coddle without being obvious. She was talking with Adam, gesturing over to a crowd where firemen were finally combating the flames. It looked slow-going.

"Chase?" Adam called, as Chase reached into his sealed pocket and wrapped his fingers around his inhaler.

"Oh no, oh man, Mr. Davenport's gonna kill us," Bree moaned, walking over to her little brother before seeming to think better and reaching for her cellphone instead. "We should call 911."

Chase ignored her, bringing the inhaler to his lips and sucking in a puff of medication. He tried to hold his breath, one beat, two, before he had to release it. Another puff of medication, lasting six beats this time. One last puff, and Chase held his breath for ten seconds before releasing it easily. His throat still ached, his lungs were sore, and smoke inhalation would probably rank pretty high on his list of terrible experiences. But he was breathing on his own, and as pathetic as it was, it felt like an accomplishment.

"How did you do that?" Bree demanded, phone in hand. There was an expression of dazed confusion on her face, and Chase realized no one had really sat down and had a conversation about this sort of thing. He'd researched, and the doctor had given him the basics, but their had never been a discussion about what asthma was. Bree could full well believe that touching Chase too hard would set off an attack. Adam might actually believe asthma could be contagious. No one had told them otherwise, at least. And maybe it was Chase's job to start that conversation. _Screwed that one up._

"What did you think an inhaler was for?"

* * *

When they got back to the lab, covered in soot and very tired, Davenport forced them all to stand still for the medscanner. He put some salve on Adam's hands and wrapped a burn on Bree's forearm, congratulating them on a successful mission.

"The people you saved are feeding the press some lines," Leo offered from his desk. He had a video on his laptop, a news report from outside the building. The firemen were still fighting the flames, but there was no real loss now that the building was empty. "They're saying they found a fire escape to climb down. There's no fire escape anywhere on the building."

"I'll doctor some documents," Davenport answered as he taped Bree's bandages down. "For all intents and purposes, the building had a fire escape."

"The firemen are saying they 'had a feeling' about bringing the special retardant," Leo continued in obvious mirth. He had a bowl of popcorn on his lap, watching the news report like a movie. Davenport turned to Chase as he psyched himself up for another argument, because he hadn't followed orders on a mission. Instead of a lecture, Davenport hugged Chase with a force no one had dared exert on him since he'd turned into a puddle on the gym floor.

"I am so proud of you, buddy," Davenport announced, pulling back. He kept one hand on Chase's shoulder, squeezing affectionately. "You did great. I mean, by the time I noticed any signs of an attack you were already using your inhaler. That's exactly what I wanted you to do."

"Really? You're not mad that I...I went in the building? With the smoke?"

"Well, yeah, I'd like it if you didn't put yourself in that situation," Davenport agreed as he started packing up the medical supplies. "That's just a part of the job, though. What I really want is to know that when things get really dangerous, and I'm not there, you have the sense to take care of yourself."

"You're talking to me about _sense?"_ Chase asked, dumbfounded. Davenport had the smartest man alive in his basement, and his great worry was that he wasn't smart enough to pack an inhaler? "Is that why you've been so weird these last few weeks?"

"I just worry, Chase." Davenport finished putting away the supplies and sat down, talking openly and without embellishment. It was a rare sight, and Chase sat next to him to drink it in. "I hear you though, okay? I'll dial it back in training and maybe I can get Tasha to stop packing your lunch. It's just scary, knowing you're out there with this. That you could be hurting and I wouldn't know. This is new for us, too."

"Yeah," Adam interjected from the side. He had been pushing at his burned flesh, wincing, and then pushing again. "I don't even know what asthma is, really."

"But we're trying," Davenport continued. He stood up, nodded at Chase, and made his exit. "See you at training tomorrow," he threw over his shoulder.

"Hey, Adam," Chase called, pulling his brother's attention from his wounded hands. _We should tape oven mitts on there before he gets an infection._ "I have some time to talk about asthma, if you want to learn. Leo, toss me some popcorn."

"Your legs aren't broken," Leo answered, not moving from his chair.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **You may have noticed this did not come a week later. This is one of the few times I have a good excuse. I had this written out, and the whole chapter got deleted off my computer. I was able to recover the first thousand words, and had to rewrite the rest from scratch. I lost my muse for a while, and got distracted by big life events, and now I've finally finished it. Again.**

 **In other news, my baby nephew came into the world while I was rewriting this, so now I get to brag to the two people who will actually read this. Sorry for the wait, but to those two people, thanks for coming back after I lied so blatantly to you. And thank you to all the wonderful reviewers of my last chapter. There weren't many, and I appreciate every word that was written. My next story probably won't take as long.**

 **Also, the title is supposed to be the quote, "We All Have Different Reasons for Forgetting to Breathe", but FFN doesn't have enough room for all that, so I shortened it.**

 **I hope you liked it, though. Leave a review if you have something to say, and have a great day!**

 **Until next time...**


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